


The Art of Still Frame

by nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive
Summary: Written pre 2005. Posting for archival purposes.It's an art you can't teach.
Relationships: Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor
Kudos: 3





	The Art of Still Frame

At precisely five-fifteen, the streets become grid-locked.

Traffic grinds to a halt, the sound of honking horns echoing through the city in some kind of defunct symphony. Martin watches it all from the window of his sixth floor office and contemplates staying late, waiting out rush hour. He shrugs into his coat instead, grabs his briefcase off a too tidy desk and heads towards the elevators.

He'll take the hostile noise of a city brought to a standstill over the suffocating silence of his empty office any day.

The trip home is agonizing, so much so he's half tempted to turn around, head back to work and start working on tomorrow's problems. Except he knows getting back there would take just as long as it took getting to where he is and then he'd be even later getting home.

"Come on." Said out loud, but his windows are closed so he knows no one hears.

He thinks that's why he said it; no ramifications, no justifications, just the voicing of frustration in the safe confines of his reliable family sedan --which, of course, he hates, because it's tired and predictable and he doesn't have a family anyway so why he drives it is beyond him.

And finally, finally traffic starts moving, the bridge slowly draining across to the other side and of course there's an accident at this time of day. There's *always* an accident --he's really starting to hate New York.

Arriving home is accompanied by the thrill of triumph, like he's somehow outsmarted the system yet again. It lasts only a fraction of a second, replaced instantly by resignation because it's not like he has anything to come home to. Plants, he has plants, and they do need watering, so he forces himself out of the car, climbs the steps into his building, pausing only long enough to check his (empty) mailbox before climbing onto the elevator.

"Hold."

And this is just what he needs; riding up with some neighbour who's probably going to want to make civilized conversation. Talk about the weather or some such nonsense and...

He will gladly talk about tomorrow's forecast if it means getting to ride with what he can only describe as a Latin God. It's quite possibly the best thing that's happened to him all day and Martin tries very hard (failing miserably) not to drool as the man slides between the closing doors and offers a (very friendly) smile.

"Thanks."

"Um... I... yeah..."

Smooth, Martin, real smooth.

"Twelve."

Eyes like pools of black glass, reflecting everything and yet holding so much warmth Martin finds himself leaning into the stranger's space. Inhaling (against his will) the spicy scent of musk and male and sex and... "What?"

"The twelfth floor," the stranger repeats, cocking his head and smirking something close to amusement.

"Right, sorry." And Martin wonders why he's single.

He fumbles a little before getting his fingers to work, pressing the button for the twelfth floor before settling back in his spot, torn between blushing at his feet and staring doe eyed at the man next to him.

"I think you forgot a button," the stranger states, grinning like Martin's the most amusing thing he's come across in days and Martin can only blink.

"Huh?" he asks, glancing down and yes, twelve is right. "Sorry, what floor did you need?"

"Twelve."

And this just gets better and better because Martin now has a floor neighbour --and he still hasn't entirely reasoned out what possible name he could give to the people living, not necessarily adjacent to him, but on his floor-- that he'd gladly jump should the opportunity present itself.

"Yeah, I'm... me too." Practically stuttered and Martin's blush creeps up a notch.

"Guess we're neighbours. Danny," the man says by way of introduction before offering a hand.

Seeing, seeing is one thing. Smelling, also a good thing, but touching, touching Martin doesn't think he can handle and oh, God... Touching is amazing because the stranger's, Danny's, hand is soft and firm, his touch lingering and the pressure of his thumb just right and Martin could easily imagine what Danny's hand would feel like wrapped around his cock and... shit.

"Martin." Blurted out after a moment of stunned silence and this is officially the longest elevator ride of his life. Or the shortest, he can't really decide.

Definitely the shortest, because way too soon the doors are opening, leaving Martin with little choice but to climb off, head toward his apartment and he'll probably never see Danny again and then he'll have to spend all his time hanging out in the lobby and eventually he'll end up thrown in jail and...

"Martin."

"Yeah?" Martin asks, turning to see Danny standing by the door directly across from his apartment and, apparently, despite his best efforts to screw this up, the universe is looking out for him.

"I don't usually do this, but... I was just wondering, would you mind if I took your picture?"

Yes, oh, God yes, please yes, thank you universe yes and... "What?" Accompanied by a frown because a moment ago he swore Danny was going to ask him out but this, this is not what he expected and maybe Danny's just kinky and as soon as he finds out Martin's not he's not going to be interested and pictures?

"Sorry. I'm a photographer," Danny explains, crossing the hall and pulling out a very professional business card that Martin accepts with shaking hands. "It's just, your eyes, they tell a story and I'd very much like to photograph you. Think it over, my number's on the back," Danny continues, waiting for Martin to turn over the card before smiling and turning back to his apartment.

~*~

He's not thinking about it.

He hasn't spent the last three days thinking about it, because sure, he wants to see Danny again, but he sure as hell doesn't want to pose for some sort of portrait that'll be used to sell God only knows what, or worse still, end up hanging in a gallery somewhere.

He's done his research. Actually, it wasn't hard, all it really took was plugging Danny's name into a search engine and he'd come up with all kinds of hits. Mostly obscure art pieces and exhibits that he doubts he'll ever see. And, of course, several tasteful ad campaigns that he imagines Danny only does to pay the bills. He's fairly certain the term starving artist also applies to photographers.

The worst part is Danny's good. He's pictures are subtle, but strangely erotic and Martin's fairly certain that has more to do with the subject matter than the actual work. Men, all young, all attractive, and it really doesn't explain why Danny would want to photograph him.

He's thought about it a lot, though. Stood in front of his mirror, waiting for his morning shower's steam to subside so that he could study his form and he still couldn't see anything. At least, nothing he thinks the art community would be interested in. So really, he's made his decision. He's certainly not a model and, judging from the online reviews, Danny seems to have a big enough following to be able to pick and choose. It's not like he needs Martin.

Except maybe he does and that's exactly why Martin finds himself standing outside the Redux Gallery in Chelsea.

Just standing there, staring at Danny's name on the little sign beside the door, debating whether or not to go in. And really, making a decision like this should involve every conceivable piece of research, so seeing the work in actual context is probably a good idea. It really has nothing to do with the possibility that Danny might be inside.

And that was something he didn't think about. Because Danny could be inside, could be waiting and once he sees Martin he'll want to talk to Martin and Martin still hasn't decided what he's going to say. And obviously this shouldn't be this hard.

Except it is, because he hasn't had sex in going on eight months and Danny's the first person that's *looked* at him that way in longer than Martin can remember. Except he still doesn't know if Danny actually wants to photograph him or if he wants to fuck him and, God, men can be so confusing. Not for the first time in his life, Martin wishes he were straight. Women had to easier, they just had to be.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

And great, just great, he's only been standing here for twenty minutes debating what to do and what he might say once he was inside and now Danny's standing beside him, once again *looking* and the sight is enough to make Martin's knees weak.

"I... um..."

Oh yes, any minute now he's going to stop being a tongue tied fool around people, or more specifically, Danny.

"You've reconsidered?" And Danny actually sounds hopeful, like he's ready to whisk Martin away to some secret underground studio and go straight to work.

"Actually, I just... I wanted to..."

Any minute now.

"Of course, come on in, I'll give you the tour."

Right, Danny equals mind reader. Martin's going to have to remember that.

~*~

The tour mostly consisted of Danny picking apart his own work. Explaining just why he took a picture, and why it didn't turn out the way he wanted, and why he still doesn't know why people bother to buy any of the images.

It was fascinating.

In a, 'completely blocking everything Danny said in order to better concentrate on the smooth lines of Danny's neck and the soft way his lips part when he looks at something he doesn't like and the way his hands move when he talks and the swaggering walk that makes Martin want to tear his (tight) jeans right off and fuck him against a wall', kind of way.

"So what did you think?"

And he knew that question was coming. It probably wouldn't even be so bad if he knew *anything* about art, but he doesn't, so it is.

"I... I liked them. They're, um, well, actually, they were kind of sad. The people, in the pictures, I mean," Martin stammers through his explanation, twitching nervously for a second before sinking into the chair Danny offered him exactly three minutes ago. Not that he's been counting.

Danny nods like he wasn't expecting anything else before perching on the edge of the sofa, glancing down at Martin in what Martin can only assume is an appraising way. He still feels a little out of sorts, sitting in the back room of the gallery, surrounded by unframed pieces and cardboard boxes. He's half tempted to suggest they head back to Danny's apartment, but he's fairly certain that would entail agreeing to Danny's little proposition, and Martin's still not certain he's ready for that. Not certain he wants it at all.

"So, this is where I ask you if you've made a decision," Danny says, reading Martin's mind again and Martin makes a mental note to ask him how he does it.

"Um... Why? I mean, why me?" Martin asks, wishing Danny had thought to offer him coffee, water, something to do with his hands.

"Because your face tells a story, and you're beautiful," Danny says, smiling that smile that Martin imagines is reserved just for him –which is a completely ridiculous thought but it doesn't stop Martin's heart from fluttering at the sight.

"And they'll end up, where? In here?" Martin asks, deciding his hands are best left on his lap, clenched into tight fists.

"Maybe. You'd get the final say, of course. We'd take some shots, then you can look at them, decide if you want them displayed. You could always just keep them, destroy them if you want," Danny explains, smiling again and Martin's nodding before he can stop himself.

The smile that gets him is worth it, though. Hell, he'll pose nude and let Danny display the pictures on the top of the Empire State building if it means getting that smile.

~*~

This is not what he expected.

He's not certain what he expected, but he knows this isn't it. Because he's sitting in the middle of Danny's living room (which has been converted into a studio), fully clothed, with six large, bright lights shining in his face and Danny flashing some sort of odd handheld mechanism around his head. It's unnerving.

It makes him feel completely conspicuous, completely open and vulnerable and, despite all that, he's hard. And he's fairly certain Danny knows it.

"So, what should I do?" he asks, shifting for what feels like the thousandth time before Danny finally looks up and makes eye contact.

"Nothing, just sit there," he instructs, making a show of picking out a camera before adjusting the settings to something he must know by heart. Martin wonders if it's a trick that can be learnt, or if it comes with instinct.

"Okay."

And then there's a camera in his face. Flashing and moving across the room and the only time he hears the shudder close is when he's *not* smiling. This is nothing like those few family portraits he was forced to stand in for.

It takes Danny a little over twenty minutes to go through the first roll. Another twenty minutes to change everything over and adjust some light settings and just when Martin's about to start fidgeting, Danny stops what he's doing and crosses over to stand directly in front of Martin's field of sight.

"Am I doing something wrong?" he asks, taking in Danny's frown and wondering if perhaps he should try to smile more, or less.

"I was just... Can we try something?" Danny asks, waiting for Martin's nod before reaching into the space between them.

And apparently Martin is going to be posing nude because Danny's hand is sliding down his shirt, pulling open the top two buttons and Martin *feels* himself flush.

"Um..."

"Is that okay?" Danny asks, pulling away, leaving Martin's shirt slightly open and Martin can only nod.

He swallows against the sudden lack of moisture in his mouth and then Danny's moving again, taking more pictures and Martin's never felt so exposed. The entire process feels like sex and by the time Danny's done his second roll, Martin's practically panting.

"You okay?" Danny asks, and right, mind reader.

"Yeah, I just... it's nothing," Martin finally answers, because he's sure as hell's not going to say, 'well, Danny, I'm completely horny right now and say, can we take a break to have, you know, sex.'

"Good, can we move this, over there," Danny asks, nodding in the direction of a pile of colourful pillows strewn across the floor.

Martin's brain has apparently detached itself from his body because he's moving before he registered that he's agreed. Settling into the pillows and twisting himself so that his erection isn't totally noticeable. Not that Danny seems to care --Martin's only just settled when Danny kneels beside him and forcibly moves him into a slightly more natural state.

That presents two problems, one, Danny's touching again. And two, Danny's now very aware of the effect said touching is having on Martin. Martin briefly wonders if Danny's lights can compensate for the scarlet blush settling into his cheeks.

"I, God, I'm sorry," Martin says, glancing anywhere but at Danny and when Danny laughs, Martin wills the floor to open and swallow him into hell. It has to better than this.

"Don't worry about it, it's good. Well, I mean it works for these shots, but it's also, nice to know," Danny says, smiling that damn smile again and Martin wonders if perhaps he can convince Danny to take *his* shirt off.

"Can we lose this?" Danny asks, fingering Martin's shirt and Martin blinks.

"How do you do that?" Martin asks before he can stop himself.

"Do what?" Danny questions, giving Martin that same questioning smirk that Martin first saw on an elevator ride that seems a lifetime ago.

"Nothing, sorry..." Because he's not insane, and he sure as hell doesn't want Danny to think he's insane.

But Danny's still looking at him like he might be, so Martin does the only thing he can think of. He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor, just past the pillows and now that he's half dressed, sprawled across Danny's unfinished hardwood, Martin can't help but notice the way Danny's jeans tug across his cock. It's like revelation and, for a moment, Martin forgets what they're doing.

It lasts until Danny reaches for the camera again, ignoring the lights he hasn't moved and Martin dimly recalls him saying something about natural light. Not that Martin has any clue, so he just nods, leans back and tries not to smile.

~*~

"It'll take me a couple of days to process them," Danny says, standing far too close and Martin's hand clenches a little harder on the shirt he's holding.

"Right, okay," Martin replies, still not moving and he's not certain if Danny expects him to leave or if he's supposed to stay. He really wants to stay.

"So what did you think? Wasn't as bad as you were expecting, was it?" Danny asks, leaning a little close and smiling.

"No, it was, nice," Martin replies, smiling sheepishly and glancing down at the floor.

"You know, I usually have a rule about my subjects," Danny begins and Martin heart plummets into his stomach. "But I'd kind of like to make an exception for you," Danny continues and, just like that, Martin's smiling.

He might even be nodding for all he knows, but before he can process being embarrassed, Danny's kissing him. His lips are even softer than Martin imagined, pressed lightly against his own, moving with insistency that still manages to be subtle. It's like sex and art rolled into one and Martin suspects *this* is what they mean by toe curling.

Way too soon Danny's pulling away, panting against Martin's skin and Martin barely manages to suppress a whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

"I guess that means you'd be okay with me buying you a coffee?" Danny asks, pulling back long enough to make eye contact and Martin finds himself frowning.

"Um, yeah, but..." Martin replies, glancing back at the pillows and when Danny laughs, Martin finds himself blushing once again.

"Sorry, kind of figured you for a 'take your time' kind of guy," Danny answers, smirking again before continuing. "But this works."

And maybe he should have made Danny wait. Should have dragged this out and at least tried a first date, because he's never had a one night thing resolve into something and he really wants something with Danny. But then Danny's kissing him again, pushing him back until they're falling to the ground and Martin remembers the pictures.

Because even if this doesn't go anywhere, he has an excuse to see Danny again, and that's good enough for him.


End file.
